


Healing

by screamingatstars



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, NOT a suicide attempt, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, but still self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingatstars/pseuds/screamingatstars
Summary: Back during their time in the Horde, Adora was the only one who ever knew how deep Catra’s self-hatred ran. Now, after the war, she’s still trying to help her heal.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 104





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t have much of a plan for this fic, I just wanted to write some angsty Catradora and now here we are.

Catra had struggled with being vulnerable from the time she was a kitten. Even in Adora’s distant, slightly blurred memory of peeking into a crate and finding a pair of scared, mismatched eyes staring back at her, Catra had always chosen to lash out instead of admitting any kind of weakness. Back then, it took the form of scratches, kicks, and yells; of explosive anger masking fear and sorrow: a defense mechanism bent out of shape under Shadow Weaver’s disapproving hand and gone too far. But as time went on, Adora was powerless to stop Catra’s outbursts from turning inward, too.

Only once had she actually stumbled upon Catra during one of these episodes, when she thought no one else was around. It had been after a long and rigorous day of training, and all of them had taken a beating from each other and their teachers, with Catra especially struggling by the end and being singled out. 

While the rest of their team had been at dinner, she had been curled up on  ~~ their ~~ Adora’s bunk, blanket wrapped around her entire body, the barracks otherwise empty as she cried. Her body was hunched in on itself, small as it could get, hands fisted in her hair and clumps of fur strewn about on the mattress, narrow scratches gouged into her arms. Adora had lingered in the doorway, out of sight, longing to comfort her friend but knowing it would almost certainly be futile. Catching Catra off guard and trying to confront her while she was like this didn’t end in soft smiles anymore, instead sending her bristling in denial and brushing both Adora and her tears away.

So she intentionally stomped outside the door a few times, announcing her presence, and waited a moment before walking in slowly and sitting on the edge of the bunk. Keeping her gaze fixed on the wall, she felt Catra shifting but not standing; heard her sniff and sob quietly. Adora didn’t say a word. She simply stayed, keeping the promise she had made years before and honored ever since. 

If Catra missed dinner, then Adora did too.

It was at least ten minutes of sitting in near-silence, intently watching the wall, before the soft touch of Catra’s tail brushed against her arm. It lingered there, hesitant and cautious, for another minute, but eventually moved to encircle her wrist in a light grip that was more than familiar. Adora still didn’t move, except to slide herself ever so slightly closer. Offering, but not pushing. 

Another minute, and her offer was accepted: Catra’s tail released her wrist, only to be replaced with a trembling hand, and joined by an arm clutching her waist. Before Adora could draw another breath, Catra was pressing up against her side and burying her head in her shoulder. Tears soaked into her shirt; claws dug into her skin briefly before retracting. 

The warmth of Catra’s shaking body against hers was the closest thing to a confession of hurt that her friend was capable of, Adora knew, so she was sure to take it seriously. For once, she didn’t try to say something to help, to cheer her up or make her smirk. She didn’t say anything at all. Instead, she pulled Catra closer, gently resting her cheek into her messy mane of hair and letting her cry herself out.

That was a one-time occurrence, though, isolated in its circumstance. That sort of vulnerability was extraordinarily rare, and absolutely nonexistent to anyone other than Adora herself. Not a single other soul knew about the drops of blood that sometimes dripped from Catra’s claws, drawn from her own arms in moments of intense emotion and hatred. 

And that was the way it remained when Adora left Catra behind in the Horde, she learned later. Explosive bouts of anger alternating with heartbroken self-destruction, repeating in an endless cycle for all the months they were at war and split apart. When Catra, once all of it was behind them, had first started admitting and revealing to her just how deep all of this ran- further than Adora had ever thought or seen, down into the core of her very being- it broke her heart clean in two. Catra showed her every single self-inflicted scar, every almost-healed cut, and Adora traced them softly with her fingers, as if she could somehow erase both the marks and the nightmarish loathing that caused them with just her touch. She stayed up deep into the night with her, holding her hand and comforting her when the memories and years-old habits became too much. She learned, slowly, when it was best to leave Catra alone to her thoughts and when to stay by her side.

And maybe this process- healing and falling apart and rebuilding stronger than before- would never fully end. Maybe it would, one day, but maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe this was the one journey that they couldn’t complete.

Either way, Catra and Adora fully intended to walk the long road of healing together.


End file.
